Sonnets are for Secrets (and Chow Chow)

I packed it tight, this tangle of a heart–
green tomatoes, mustard seed, red regret.
Each feeling sliced and jarred in mason art,
a scalding brine of things I can't forget.

You'd never know, to look– so neat, so mild–
how vinegar burns through the things unsaid.
I've smiled too long, the ever-pleasant child,
while peppers scream inside my lidded head.

The seal holds firm– oh Lord, it has to hold–
for if I twist that cap and let it go,
the air will thicken, hot and sharp and bold,
and you'll taste everything you didn't know.

So pass me by, and praise my sweetness,
friend–
lest you find out how bitter truths end.